Celestial Bodies: Of Runts and Lycans

Chapter 17: You and I

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Lesa's POV

I look around my once beautiful home, now in shambles courtesy of me. When they came and told me that Christopher was arrested and taken to the cellars, I thought they were messing with me. The Christopher I know is loving and kind, protective at best. When they said he hit Celeste and was believed to have the intention of hurting her further, I thought they were lying. But I knew they wouldn't lie. There's no reason to lie to someone who was taught from a young age to spot a lie be it through blood or tells. So I broke a few things. Every picture I had was thrown. My table was cleared and flipped. My chairs were thrown. The only thing that seemed to survive my rampage is the couch I'm sitting on now.

Christopher. . . What kind of messed up person raises their hand to another? To a young vulnerable woman? I suppose even the best of people can hold a secret. . .

I pull myself off the couch. My face is hot and red from the tears that had barely stopped falling all night. I'm sure my cheeks and eyes are puffy as well. I need to talk to Xavier. I need to talk to Christopher. . . I don't want to. I never want to face him again after this but what can one do when their mate is revealed to be a piece of shit? I hold a hand to my stomach; I'll need to reject him. For some reason that hurts less than I thought it would.

I decide to walk to the pack house, thinking the cool air will do me good. People give me looks as I get closer. Pity. I have never been fond of it. You don't pity those who don't need to be pitied. Christopher should be pitied, his mind ill with the thoughts of violence towards this young innocent.

Celeste is sleeping on the couch when I open the main door of the pack house. I gasp upon seeing her bruising cheek, harsh reds and purples decorating her swollen skin. My stomach turns as I try my best to hold myself together. I can't help but go to her. I run a finger over her bruised cheek. She flinches before her eyes open, only they're much darker than the brown I saw the other day. It's as though her wolf is in control.

"Hi?" My voice sounds cautious, unsure.

"Celeste is sleeping. Leave her be," the voice is deeper than Celeste's but not by much. This has to be her wolf. Fascinating. . .

"Are you okay? I mean - is Celeste okay?" She eyes me wearily, like she's ready to attack and/or run at any moment.

"She will be. Christopher hurt her." She eyes the mark on my neck, with his initials and swirls to represent what was once his pack. "Are you here to hurt her too?"

"I would never do that," I promise. "I came to speak to Xavier, I take it he's not here?" She shakes her head.

"He left early this morning, told us to stay in the pack house."

"What's your name?" I can't help but ask. I have met a few wolves in my years who are more present than others. They tend to have names when they're that way.

"Ancillary." Her response is short.

"I'm Lesa," I properly introduce myself. "Can I speak to Celeste, please?" Another shake.